


I don't want a medal

by TheHopefulLunaire



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale loves his bookshop okay, Chocolate, Crowley being Extra, Deleted Scenes, Fluff, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pre-Relationship, and his books, less oblivious Crowley, staging a scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:33:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheHopefulLunaire/pseuds/TheHopefulLunaire
Summary: Aziraphale is finally about to celebrate the opening of his bookshop, but unfortunately for him, Heaven has other plans.  Crowley shows up with chocolates, then goes to do what has to be done.Inspired by the deleted scene in the waterstones exclusive edition of the script book





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I spent the last five days being obsessed about this scene, and today I decided to get it out of my system. So here it is.

Crowley had told him he woudn’t be available for the opening day. 

Aziraphale had tried to restrain his giddiness when he’d shared the news regarding his bookshop with him and Crowley had merely stared back at him, impassible with his eyebrow slightly raised above his glasses the way it often was. ‘Good for you,’ he’d said. 

Aziraphale had tried in vain to fight the grin stretching his lips as a powerful delightment spread deep in his stomach. ‘It is, yes. Fabulous, even,’’ Aziraphale had answered in a light voice, his eyes kept firm on Crowley. He was sitting next to him on the bench with a small distance separating them. ‘All of them will be stocked at the same place for once.’

After a moment where neither of them moved, Crowley shifted to face him a bit more, lounging as ever with his arm now resting on the back of the bench between them and his legs spread wide. Aziraphale doubted he’d ever seen him holding himself in a somewhat presentable manner if not proper. Crowley didn’t move his eyes away from him and Aziraphale straigthened his back then cleared his throat with an uncertain cough.

‘It opens on Friday. After lunch.’

‘Hmm.’ 

Aziraphale looked down at his clasped hands on his lap. ‘There should be at least a small crowd attending the celebration. It will be a wondrous event, I expect.’

‘Really?’ The incredulity was blatant in Crowley’s voice and Aziraphale shot him an irritated look.

‘Oh, don’t be so surprised.’

Crowley’s lips turned into the faintest hint of a smile. ‘Who said I was? But it simply doesn’t seem to be a good thing having a crowd there if you have no desire to sell any of these books of yours.’

‘And how do you know I have no intension of selling them?’ Aziraphale questioned, quite affronted. ‘It’s a bookshop, after all. The purpose of a bookshop is to sell the books.’

‘Maybe with other bookshops, but I highly doubt it’ll be the case with yours. Am I wrong?’

Aziraphale folded his hands across his chest like a petulant child, refusing to answer the comment. Crowley was right. Of course he had no intention of selling his books. They were his most cherished possessions on Earth and Heaven included, and he didn’t see the point of going to certain lenghts to acquire an item of inestimable value such as many of these only to have them go to somebody else afterward. He was attached to them. Obviously, Crowled was aware of it. He’d spent enough time in Aziraphale’s vicinity to know all about the passion he had for books.

‘I’m extremly curious to see how you’ll manage to dissuade customers though,’ Crowled said, his face now resting against his fist.

‘I’ll manage just fine. Thank you very much.’ 

‘Oh, I have no doubt.’

Silence settled between them again. The only sounds came from the ducks playing in the water near the bench. Aziraphale sent a discreet glance up to his left and swallowed. Crowley was still gazing openly at him with no discretion whatsoever.

‘The wine will be excellent,’ Aziraphale pointed out in a feigned absent-minded tone.

‘Oh really?’ Crowley answered.

Aziraphale gave a curt nod. ‘Yes. An important event deserves to be appropriately celebrated.’

‘What about the food?’

‘The food will be the most scrumptuous, though this will be just for me. I fear sharing it with the guests might be a bad idea. Probably not the best combination: food and books together, especially in a cramped space such as the shop. It isn’t exactly big, and the books will take a lot of room once I’m done arranging them and put the shelves up.’

‘We wouldn’t want an unfortunate incident to happen.’

Aziraphale nodded. ‘Exactly.’

Crowled rolled his head back until his eyes were directed to the grey cloudy sky and heaved a long sigh. ‘Can’t believe my schedule is full next week. I would’ve loved to see your attempts at entertaining people. No doubts I would’ve been entertained myself. ’

Azirahpale’s brow furrowed. The excited flutter inside his chest died down. ‘Not available?’ he asked, attempting to make his voice sound less disheartened than he felt. ‘Will you be working?’

Aziraphale could slightly distinguish Crowley’s yellow eyes behind the dark lenses when their eyes met. Crowley half-shrugged one shoulder and waved a hand to indicate his displeasure. ‘Unfortunately.’

‘All week?’ Azirahpale enquired, tone hopeful. 

Crowley sneered. It was enough of an answer. 

‘Oh.’ Aziraphalel looked down at his lap and forced his hands to remain perfectly still. He shouldn’t have felt that much disappointed only because Crowley would be detained elsewhere. He was a demon after all; it was not the right way for things to be; him wanting Crowley to be to his ceremony

Aziraphale had wanted to invite him to his grand opening, though he had had no idea how to proceed from there. He couldn’t just ask him. The actual asking part was always unnecessary when it came to ask something of Crowley. After millenia of being acquainted with each other, and growing closer–though not too close that it would considered appropriate– to one another in the last few centuries, Aziraphale had gained all the experience required to know how to approach Crowley. A comment, a lament, or even a pout followed by a certain look-–not pleading but not not-pleading either—always did the trick. Crowley was always predictable that way. The first couple of times, Aziraphale had been dumbstruck. He had never expected actions that could be defined as generous or thoughtful coming from a demon, and yet, Crowley had, probably not deliberately, proved him wrong . 

So if he couldn’t ask him directly, Aziraphale only had to follow the same pattern as usual, but for that he had needed to find him first. And he’d found him not long after. If someone was to ask him, Aziraphale would be adamant that the coincidental meeting had been just that–coincidental. Not ulterior motive whatsoever. And before finding himself sat on the bench with Crowley next to him, announcing he wouldn’t make it, Aziraphale had not imagined the possibility of Crowley being unavailable. Well, he had done it, but he’d pushed the thought aside right way. Aziraphale had managed to acquire a bottle of a wine Crowley had once called “the most spectacular nectar his lips had been graced with” before he’d started rambling enviously. Crowley had been right. Finding a bottle of a St Montrésor had been a real hassle, even for him, let alone obtain it. But he had managed in the end. The effort should have been sufficient. If there was a good wine, there was Crowley present. 

 

__________

 

It was now Wednesday, and he wasn’t yet finished with the shelves. So many of them were still bare. He had piles of book carefully placed on what would be the counter, all of them were high enough that he couldn’t reach them even standing on his tiptoes and thus needed a stool. If he were to take no break today, he might very well be done with all of them by the time the sun would bequeath its place to the moon tonight.

He took a moment to look around the shop, to take in all these leather-bound volumes-–ancient volumes and others that were less so—regrouping decades and centuries of History and human most remarkable imagination stocked in the same place. His lips turned upwards into a pleased smile. This place he would be more than satisfied to call his home. 

He’d lived in more different spaces than he could remember during all those millennia he’d spent stationnés on Earth, even stayed for more than a couple of centuries living in some of them. But this building right here, right now, was a dream come true. The atmosphere within these walls had something specific he couldn’t quite pinpoint that made him feel more at ease than anywhere else in the world. Heaven seemed too glacial and impersonal to him in comparison. It lacked authencity.

He had never realised how cold and bereft Heaven actually was until he’d descended upon Earth and saw how humans started to manage their own living space. It had been far from ideal at first, but after a few centuries had slid by, the art of it had improved tremendously. They were now filled with furnitures and lots of trinkets they had not necessarily a need for, but kept anyway simply because they liked them. And it was a good enough reason. No infinite emptiness and no oppressing brightness. Their results were immensely more lively and welcoming than back upstairs. He wiggled his shoulders a bit, immensely content of his bookshop so far, and went to pour a glass of water he brought outside to the sign-painter who had started working earlier in the morning. 

After the man had thanked him with a grateful nod and accepted the drink after rubbing his brown with his forearm, Aziraphale stepped a bit from the door and lifted his head. The sign was not finished yet but it looked quite nice already. 

‘This is a fantastic job,’ he said to the man, eyes still fixed upon the paint. ‘Well done.’

‘Thank you, sire.’

It was not long after he was back inside that the bell rang as the front door was pushed opened. Aziraphale looked from the book in his hand to the two shelves on his right, not sure where to put this one. 

‘I am afraid the shop will not be open until Friday, good people,’ Aziraphale said, still thinking how to categorise the volume in his hand. ‘But we will be having a grand opening immeditately after lunch.’

‘We aren’t here to buy books, Aziraphale.’

Aziraphale whirled around; the voice was too familiar not to be immediately recognized. Gabriel was standing in the middle of his bookshop, upright and imperious as ever, if only dressed more ostentatiously in a bright silvery purple suit. He was even wearing a top hat. The other change was that for once it wasn’t just Gabriel; he’d brought Sandalphon as company. Aziraphale swallowed, straightened his posture, tried to clasp his hands behind his back while still holding the book. 

What could have engendered this particular visit? All visits from Gabriel were always about official matter, but now that Sandalphon was present too, it could only mean that the reason for both their presence was more serious than usual. 

Aziraphale automatically tried to recall what he might’ve done in the last decade that would require their intervention. Was he to be castigated once more? Last time, they’d sent him a note. This looked worse.

‘Oh. Oh dear,’ he said, remembering Crowley rescuing him from the guillotine before they’d gone and eaten their crêpes. ‘Listen, if it’s about that business in Paris, um, it wasn’t my miracle…’ he started uneasily, but Gabriel raised a hand to cut him off.

‘I have no idea whereof you speak, oh Angel of the Eastern Gate. We are here with good news.’

So he hadn’t done anything deserving of their wrath? Aziraphale sighed in relief. 

‘Oh! How lovely,’ he exclaimed a moment later, growing delighted now that the fear of admonishment was gone. 

A short instant of silence passed by, and Aziraphale flicked his eyes from one angel to the other, growing rapidly impatient. 

Gabriel caught his gaze. ‘We’re bringing you home,’ he announced.

Sandalphon, eager, nodded comfirmation beside him. ‘Promoting you back upstairs.’ 

It took a moment for Aziraphale to properly process the meaning of their words–what they’d promised would be good news–and when he finally did, the world stopped around him. Time too. His fingers grew numb around the leather binding of the book.

Gabriel and Sandalphon remained exactly where they were standing side by side. Judging from the expression on their faces, they were expecting him to burst with delight any moment now. Sandalphon had a barely restrained smile on his face, and Gabriel, whose gaze was usually impassible, had a new sparkle Aziraphale had never seen before.

Bringing you home, Aziraphale mouthed to himself dumbly. Why would they bring him home now, right out of the blue? He suddenly felt the weight of the italian book in his hands—one from 1454, and he still didn’t know on which shelf it belonged. The book.

‘I’m opening this bookshop on Friday,’ Aziraphale exclaimed all of a sudden. ‘If Master Hatchard can make a go of it, then I think I can really…’

Gabriel clapped his large hands in front of him with a broad smile. ‘It’s an excellent idea. Whoever replaces you down here can obviously use it as a base of operations.’

‘Use my bookshop?’ Aziraphale enquired, now full either of utter disbelief or complete incomprehension. He wasn’t so sure anymore. It was obvious he was lacking elements and data to be able to make perfect sense of what was unfurling around him. Aziraphale hadn’t felt so lost and confused in a long time and Gabriel’s smile aimed straight at him didn’t help the least.

‘You’re being promoted. You get to come home.’

‘I can’t imagine why anyone would want to spend five minutes longer in this world than they had to,’ Aziraphale heard Sandalphon said, or thought he heard him say that. Perhaps he hadn’t. The scene he was in was occuring too fast and he’d lost his footing. He was struggling to follow.

‘Aziraphale has been here for almost 6000 years. We must applaud such devotion to duty.’ 

From deep within his mind, Aziraphale registered Gabriel retrieving a small box from Sandalphon’s hand and opening it to reveal a gleaming medal he turned toward him. 

‘And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.’

Aziraphale forced himself to swallow. ‘I don’t want a medal.’ His mouth felt like it was filled to the brim with wet balls of cotton coating his tongue, and his throat was closed so tight that words needed force to pass through.

‘That’s very noble of you.’ Why was Gabriel looking at him proudly?

In a moment of pure dispair, Aziraphale dragged his eyes away from Gabriel to the exit behind him, wondering desperately if there was a chance he could escape from whatever this was, only for his brain to come to a brusque halt. 

Crowley. 

Aziraphale breathed sharply. He closed his eyes. Breathed again. Reopened them. No, not an hallucination.

Crowley was standing in the flesh right behind the open door, with his top hat and dark glasses, a grin on his face revealing his white teeth, and a package he was holding up. When their eyes met, Crowley gave a cheery wave. 

Aziraphale looked back at Gabriel and Sandalphon, now growing fearful they’ll notice him any second on top of everything else. No need for them to glance over their shoulders, sensing his demonic aura would suffice. He had no idea what would happen exactly if the demon were noticed, both to Crowley and himself. In any case, he doubted it’d be a pleasant outcome.

An idea came to him. It was more ludicrous than he liked, and there was little chance it’d actually work out, but he was desperate, thus desperate measures would have to do. 

He recomposed into a semblance of himself, raising his chin a bit.

‘But only I can properly thwart the wiles of the demon Crowley,’ he tried to say with assurance. Obviously, such an important information would force them to reconsider their decision.

A quick glance over Gabriel’s shoulder, and he saw Crowley’s smile disappeared. Instead, he rose the gorgeously wrapped package higher, pointed his finger at it and mouthed ‘chocolates’ with an air Aziraphale had grown accustomed to in the last centuries.

Gabriel cleared his throat. ‘I do not doubt whoever replaces you will be as good an enemy to Crowley as you are. Michael, perhaps.’

Crowley made a face of disgust, his features distorted as though profoundly offended. ‘Michael?Michael’s a wanker,’ he mouthed to Aziraphale. 

‘Crowley’s been down here just as long as I have,’ Aziraphale said, still looking right at Crowley. ‘And he’s wily, and cunning, and brilliant and oh…’

A shadow of something new flickered over Crowley’s features before his face veered into something complicated. Aziraphale didn’t need to see his eyes to spot the difference.

‘It’s almost sounds like you like him,’ Gabriel observed in a judging voice. Aziraphale looked back at him. His thick grey eyebrows were frowned into something fundamentally suspicious.

Aziraphale shook his head. ‘I loathe him,’ he defended himself, his words strained and appropriately outraged for the situation. ‘And despite myself, I respect a worthy opponent…Which he isn’t because he’s a demon and I cannot respect a demon. Or like one.’ He said the word as though the mere concept was something rotten lodged right in the middle of his throat.

‘That’s the attitude I like to hear,’ Gabriel said with a congratulating slap on Aziraphale’s shoulder. 'You'll be an asset back at head office, I can tell you that.'

Aziraphale’s body stiffened at the contact; all his muscles tensed, his breath caught in his throat. He shot a quick glance to the entrance only to find no one there anymore, well except for the sign-painter but half-hidden by the wall. Behind the open door, there was only the empty street left. 

Crowley was gone. 

Before Aziraphale could start wondering if Crowley had left because his words had vexed him, or simply as a wise act of self-preservation to avoid getting caught, Gabriel was placing the medal around his neck. 

It was heavier than he’d have thought. It felt not so different from a burden he had no desire for.

If he was given the medal anyway, were they still expecting him to leave with them? Had his argument proven to be fruitless? He didn’t have time to find a more convincing one, and if Heaven had already decided of his fate, there was nothing that could be done to alter it. It wasn’t his place to question it, no matter how displeased he was. ‘So…’ Aziraphale tried. ‘We’re going straight back, now? Before the grand opening?’ 

‘Well, soon. We’re just going to stroll down to Cork street to see my tailor.’

They left soon after that and it’s only once they did, and Aziraphale felt relatively enchored once more that the realisation struck him. Crowley had showed up. Sunday, he’d told him that he had a busy week waiting for him, which would surely be erratic and still he had found the time to find the bookshop and visit him. And to bring chocolates with him! 

Now Aziraphale couldn’t even be sure he’ll ever see him again. If he was going back to Heaven then there would be no reason for him to come back on Earth. And even if he managed, by that time, Crowley might’ve been sent back to Hell. With one in Heaven, and the other one in Hell, there would be no way for their paths to ever cross again. 

He was also about to leave his bookshop before it’d even open. 

He hadn’t had the time yet to grow used to the smell of dust when it’ll start covering everything, and he’d need to take care of it. Or to drink cocoas in the evenings right in the middle of winter with his glasses on his nose and a recently acquired book resting open on one of the desks. Or to have clients to send out of the shop before they could purchase anything he held dear. His books were going to remain here too. It wasn’t be possible to bring them with him. 

Aziraphale went to sit on the wooden stool close to the counter and studied the room surrounding him, resolute to ignore the heavy weight in his chest. The blame was on Gabriel’s stupid medal. He tilted his head back and rolled his eyes to the beige ceiling as a long-suffering sigh escaped from his lips. He still failed to comprehend how things had turned so gravely so fast. 

The morning had started as a bright one. The rest of the day should’ve been just as perfect.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter. It should've been the last, but it'll the third chapter instead.

Crowley looked down at the package in his hand.

As soon as he’d managed to find some free time in the last three days, he’d rushed to seize it to his advantage. It wasn’t a lie when he’d told Aziraphale he would love nothing more than to attend that opening party of his. Aziraphale entertaining humans was always one of the greatest source of entertainment for Crowley. Even when it inevitably veered into something unbearably embarrassing. Aziraphale never seemed to mind, though.

It also wasn’t a lie when he’d said it would be a crazy week for him. The fault was all his, though. The last few months had been spent in a bleak stupor. He’d felt more unmotivated than usual and prone to an inexorable laziness that impacted his work. It’d been ridiculously easy to slip into ignoring what needed to be done, and his slacking and amount of unaccomplished work had been noted by his superiors. Hastur had arranged a meeting with him next week, and its purpose was crystal clear. More temptation from him, more corruptions. Crowley thought humans had terrifying skills for all of these and didn't need his influence, though he wasn’t reckless enough to point this out to his bosses.

So at the first sliver of a break, he made his way to Aziraphale’s favourite chocolate factory. There, he’d been confronted with something unexpected: an overabundance of chocolates. Dozens different sorts neatly displayed around the shop and Crowley grew uncertain. Aziraphale, as he always said proudly, had standards. While studying them, Crowley tried to remember which ones of those he might’ve seen Aziraphale eat in the past, and thus made it to the ‘standards’ list. The choice was just too excessive. How could that even be possible? Who needed so much anyway? With such a large collection, he was certain plenty of them tasted nearly identical once in the mouth.

Making a choice quickly proved to be an arduous, nearly impossible task. Crowley hesitated an eternity (way longer than he usually spent in stores) between white chocolate and black chocolate. Then he noticed a brown sort with green specks. Pistachio, it read right underneath. And was reminded of an old conversation they’d had years ago about pistachio, where Aziraphale had expressed his immense appreciation for them. Then he spotted another chocolate, this time with vanilla. He also could remember a conversation where Aziraphale had also expressed a great love for it.

Eventually, after making no progress at all, Crowley grew impatient. The man who was probably the owner of the shop came up to him a fourth time, and Crowley, now properly frustrated, relented in his conflict and asked for one of each, earning himself an incredulous look from the man. He didn’t care what the man thought of him. At least that way, Aziraphale was sure to find a few that would please his refined palate.

‘I’m sure your lady will be most delighted, sir,’ The man remarked after a while, as he placed the chocolates delicately into compartmentalized boxes.

Crowley had turned his head to the man with a grimace of outrage. ‘My lady? What in Satan’s name gave you the impression that my person has a lady?’

The man lowered a demure gaze to the boxes. Two of them were already full.

‘I sincerely apologize, sir, if I was being inappropriate with my assumption. But the gentlemen who come here indecisive are usually looking for a little something to please their ladies.’

‘Well, I am most definitely not one of these gentlemen,’ Crowley scoffed.

He’d left the shop with a package containing five emerald boxes decorated with elegant golden stripes; a package that was still in his hand.

The chocolates will have to wait until later. The day had taken the most unpredictable turn and Crowley will be damned—well more damned than he already was—if he were to sit quietly and observe this disaster unfold before him. No. He had to try something.

He hadn’t been there at the start of the conversation between Gabriel, Sandolphon and Gabriel, but what he’d overheard had been enough. Aziraphale had been promoted. Back upstairs to the head office. Aziraphale had stared back at them with a blatant anguish neither angel cared to notice. He’d shot a look at the front door afterwards, desperate for a way out.

Crowley knew what the bookshop meant to him. Aziraphale had never glowed brighter than he did when sharing the good news; his whole face lit up, his eyes alight with unprecedented glee. Then there was also his burning passion for all food in general, for his hot chocolates and French pastries, for good wine, for his tartan, for his long walks, for the sunsets and sunrises, for the first snow of winter, for the first blooms in spring, for the gavotte (once Crowley had seen him dance and promptly pretending he’d never seen him before), for any kind of new art. And where would he find that distinct happiness and private smile exclusively elicited by a good deeds if there were no humans around for him to help?

Back in Heaven, he would’ve no access to any of these specific pleasures that came with life on Earth any longer. Crowley wasn’t sure how Aziraphale would handle it, or if he would be able to. He’d go from a comfortable and fulfilling lie to back to be an angel among others. And from what he’d seen of how dismissive his superiors treated him, it seemed unlikely that they would behave toward him with both the respect and high regard he deserved once. Would he have someone there to show him affection and kindness, and flash them one of his timid but radiant smiles in return?

Crowley forced himself not to let his mind wander to what his own life on Earth would be like, with Aziraphale no longer around. He wouldn't think either about Aziraphale calling him cunning and brilliant while looking right into his eyes. This was too perilous a path to follow.

No chance he was going to let Aziraphale go back to heaven without interfering, he thought to himself with unshakeable resolve.

And the solution came to him before he had the time to search for one. It’d been less than five minutes since he’d left Arizaphale’s bookshop when he caught a glimpse of Gabriel on his way out, Sandalphon by his side.

Crowley trailed behind them discreetly. He walked at a distance to keep his aura unnoticeable to their divine sensibilities. Losing them wasn’t a risk, though. The street was mostly deserted and their daring colourful coats were an eyesore that one couldn’t not notice, even from far away. If crowley did lose them, it’d a remarkable achievement of incompetence that would surpass every other.

The walk was a short one and ended in front of a tailor. Both angels took a moment to lean forward to peer at the window display. A man walked out of the shop dressed in a manner Crowley thought was way over the top, and similar to Gabriel and Sandalphon’s current clothing. It wasn’t surprising when Gabriel followed him with his eyes and nodded to himself. Sandalphon moved closer to Gabriel and whispered something to his ear concealed behind his hand.

Horror struck. He was detected. Crowley rushed to climb behind a stagecoach next to him, pressing himself against it as flat as possible. He waited a moment. No one came. Waited slightly longer, still no one. He risked poking his head from behind the vehicle. Gabriel was laughing as Sandalphon held the door open for him. Crowley waited until Gabriel had disappeared inside and Sandalphon was back to contemplate the window to climb off the coach. From where he currently stood, he caught a glimpse of the open back door of the tailor. It was surrounded by a collection dummies.

A scheming smirk stretched on his lips.

In no time, Crowley was in the back alley on the other side of the shop with a dummy he placed against the wall so no one could see its face except from his own spot. He miracled it the most basic clothes he could think of and a dark clothe he draped carefully over its head.

Gabriel had to be close. His presence blocked all of Crowley’s sensibilities first, then an intense itch spread all over his body. The crawling sensations felt like that time he’d fallen nearly naked in a whole that had happened to be an anthill. Aziraphale had found his misery amusing, though he’d tried to conceal it.

He closed his eyes and pushed the memory aside. He could waste neither the time nor the opportunity. From what he knew, Aziraphale might be expected back to Heaven right after they had finished their business here. The knowledge that today might have been the last time he’d seen Aziraphale was lurking in the confines of his mind, and this too, Crowley pushed aside, and more forcefully. He’d have all the time in the world to submit himself to misery later if his attempt ended up as a failure.

Distraction was a privilege he couldn’t afford. However, fun was, and he would take the greatest joy in making a laughingstock of Gabriel and or Sandalphon if they were gullible enough. He only needed to further the claims Aziraphale had made back in the bookshop.

Only he could thwart Crowley’s wiles, he’d told them. Let’s go from there, he told himself. Let’s paint Aziraphale as The Great and Dreadful Thwarter that he was.

He glanced at the tailor’s building once, before he wiggled his shoulders to ready himself and began.

‘Are you certain that we are unobserved, oh monstrous creature from the bowels of Hell,’ Crowley whispered but voice loud enough to attract attention from people in his vicinity. Hopefully, one of the angels would hear him. Either from one of the rooms with an open window or Sandalphon from standing before the shop.

Crowley deepened his voice to a low raspy pitch, and brought the words in a deep nasal way inspired right from the source—so many demons spoke like that these days, it had grown into a stereotype. ‘No one is listening, oh demon Crowley.’

A noise came from inside a room right above him—like a quiet slap of shoes against floorboards. Crowley fought back a victorious smile.

‘Curses,’ he growled bitterly, his head bent, pressing his clenched fist against the wall between him and the dummy. ‘If only I could understand why my evil plans are always so brilliantly thwarted. It’s as if the forces of Heaven have a champion here on Earth who thwarts me…thwartingly…’

‘Why, Mister Crowley, you must not be downcast. I hear news that will bring joy to you and all the powers of Hell.’ The voice’s inflection turned into conspirational, devious delectation. ‘They do say as how the angel Aziraphale, your nemesis, is being sent back to Heaven.’

‘Can this be true?’ Crowley lifted his head from the dirty cobble stones to look at the dummy’s blank face, growing suddenly hopeful. He waited an instant, letting the back alley grow silent as though he was taking the time to let the information sink. Then he laughed and punched the wall with triumph. ‘I was going to swallow Holy Water in my despair at once more being beaten by the angel Aziraphale. But such excellent news! Only Aziraphale knows my ways well enough to…’ There he paused, then cleared his throat.

‘Thwart them?’

‘Exactly!’ Crowley exclaimed, elated. ‘Now, let us repair to an evil drinking den, and drink to the success of evil on this Earth, thanks to Heaven’s foolishness.’ Heaven’s foolishness indeed, if they actually fell for risible a trick.

Crowley only needed to wait for five minutes after that before Gabriel exited the shop. He saw him make his way down the street from the alley, dressed in the same laughable manner than the man’d who left the shop when they’d arrived. Why would someone chose a suit so yellow was beyond Crowley. 

He waited until they had nearly crossed the street to start following them again. This time to ensure they were indeed headed back to Aziraphale’s bookshop, and hopefully not to bring him to his new position.

Crowley flicked his eyes down to the chocolates in his hand. 

If his staging of a masquerade hadn't make them reconsider, he would find something else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!! Kudos and Comments are always appreciated!  
> not beta-ed. Feel free to inform me of any typos and or mistakes you notice. 
> 
> Come say hi on tumblr @the-hopeful-lunaire.


	3. Chapter 3

Aziraphale studied both angels standing before him. He couldn’t help noticing that their imperious bearings felt wrong inside his bookshop. There was a stark contrast between them, intimidating as ever, and all his books, his greatest source of comfort.

They’d been gone for twenty minutes. The twenty longest and most tormenting minutes of his life on Earth. Aziraphale hadn’t been able to breathe, subjected to debilitating nausea. All he had wanted to do was to stand up and go vomit, but couldn’t even move from his stool, whole body paralysed by the unfairness of this whole situation, wondering desperately what he could’ve done to deserve that promotion–to him it had felt more like a punishment than an upgrade of position, not that he would ever voice this sentiment aloud, to anyone. So the angels had disappeared only to come back with Gabriel dressed in a new attire, a flashy yellow this time, announcing a change of plans.

During the silent couple of seconds before the actual reveal, a swell of panic had tightened in Aziraphale’s throat. His whole reality ready to shift on its own axe once again. Twice in an hour was way more than he was equipped to handle.

When Gabriel spoke at last, his words offered no clarity. Quite the contrary.

Aziraphale’s confused eyes flicked from Gabriel to Sandalphon, heart pounding in his chest. He fumbled with his hands in front of him.

‘So, I’m… not going anywhere?’ he repeated, cautious, stomach twisted in knots at the fear of growing hopeful for nothing. If they’d changed their minds once, why wouldn’t they do it twice?

Gabriel gave a strong head shake. ‘Change of plans. We need you here.’ He gestured his arm sharply to the clutter of books towering over the three of them. ‘In your bookshop. Battling evil.’

Sandalphon took a step towards him. Aziraphale recoiled instinctively. The angel didn’t notice it, or simply didn’t care, because he took another step and punched him on the arm, hard.

‘Carry on battling,’ Sandalphon said, voice forcibly joyous, as though the news they’d come to deliver were particular awful and felt the need to support Aziraphale through the disappointment of having to remain on Earth after today.

Aziraphale frowned down at the painful spot, unsure whether the gesture had been one meant to be congratulatory or supportive.

‘Keep the medal.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ Aziraphale said, more lost than ever.

When he looked back up, the bookshop was empty and silent again. Aziraphale was alone once more. He suspected he would have been elated—more elated even than if he’d been served a melting chocolate soufflé while at sitting at a terrace in the middle of Paris (with Crowley possibly present) and accomplishing a myriad of good deeds—if he hadn’t felt so distraught.

This sudden shift had shaken so badly he didn’t even notice Crowley entering his shop not so long after, right until he was standing right in front of him and his lower body came into view.

‘Crowley?’ He asked incredulously.

The demon was only a couple feet away from him, leaned against one pillar, ankles crossed nonchalantly.

‘Angel. Saw you in good company earlier.’ Crowley said good, but the dripping sarcasm made it obvious that he’d meant terrible, and every other synonyms of the word that had ever existed since the invention of languages. ‘Was it a promotion I heard about? Sorry, I had to leave. Wouldn’t have benefited me to get caught in your shop, especially this week. So, when are you going back to…’ Crowley pointed his finger towards the sky with a scornful sneer.

Aziraphale gave a weak shrug. ‘It would seem that I am not going, actually.’

‘Oh, really?’ Crowley said in a tone Aziraphale had never heard before, and didn’t quite understand. ‘And is this new jewellery compensation? I have to say it, no offence, but—’

‘What?’

‘This.’ Crowley gestured to the medal. ‘Isn’t quite your style. At all. It’s not refined enough for you.’

Aziraphale bent his head to look at the medal where it rested against his ribcage. Crowley was absolutely right, of course. Green had never been a good colour for him. It didn’t suit him. Well, maybe bottle-green did, but it was the only exception. He wrapped his fingers around it to pull it off, and felt his chest lighten instantly. As if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was now able to stand, no longer crushed by its weight. Aziraphale stood from the chair and put it on one of the messy desks.

‘I didn’t want it. Oh, I’ll keep it, of course. It’s a great honour to be gifted one. Not many angels are lucky enough to get such a reward. It means you have pleased God with your devotion to your work.’

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, then, finally taking the time to realize the demon had actually come back from where he’d disappeared earlier. Then he was struck by how poor and uncivilized a host he was being. He rushed to free a chair from a pile of books he placed precariously onto another.

‘I thought you were busy this week,’ he remarked as he brought the chair over for Crowley, then his gaze wandered down to the package in the demon’s hand. Chocolates, Crowley had mouthed at him behind Gabriel. He looked up with raised eyebrows, enthusiastic.

‘Here,’ Crowley said, looking defiantly into his eyes, as though daring him to say anything. He handed out the package. ‘Chocolates.’

‘So you said earlier,’ Aziraphale said. His fingers brushed Crowley’s, and he forced himself to ignore the rush of flustered exhilaration shooting through his veins. Hanging around Crowley always seemed to ignite new sensations in his body, ones he never could predict. With every new century passing by, it was becoming considerably harder for him to control them.

Aziraphale hurried to open the package and get a look inside. There, packed in a pile, were several familiar boxes from his favourite hocolate factory in London. He glanced back up at Crowley with a fond look and hint of a shy smile. A voice in his mind reminded him that he shouldn’t be doing this. This wasn’t right. That Crowley was still very much a demon, and he very much an angel, but this time, Aziraphale paid it no attention.

This morning had been tumultuous. A tormenting ordeal. Living through one was a rare enough occurrence—and a great source of exhaustion too, and so if Aziraphale felt like indulging in this thing between them he didn’t quite understand, for once, who would stop him? After all, he had come short of nearly losing this.

Only at that moment did the knowledge that he, indeed, had nearly lost all of this sank in. Spending time with Crowley; going to see plays together, feeding the ducks while seating on their usual bench, occasionally having dinner, Crowley coming to his rescue every time he found himself inconvenienced, Crowley making him laugh until tears welled up in his eyes, and he was pressing his hands against his aching abs. Not that Aziraphale would ever admit it to anyone, but he always laughed the most when Crowley was around. The demon had a specific sense of humour that Aziraphale couldn’t help finding endearing.

‘Don’t you dare thank me,’ Crowley warned when he caught his eyes.

‘Of course not, dear boy,’ Aziraphale answered with a soft smile on his lips. ‘I would never.’

__________________

‘Oh! I nearly forgot,’ Aziraphale exclaimed a few chocolates later. He jumped to his feet and rushed to make his way to his backroom, though the organized mess blocking the path slowed him in his endeavour.

‘Hey! Where are you going now?’ Crowley called after him.

‘Just one second.’

‘The second’s over!’

‘I forgot the wine,’ Aziraphale explained, glancing over his shoulder where Crowley had paused in his exploration of the bookshop.

Crowley lifted an incredulous eyebrow at him. ‘Wine? I’ve never seen you drink wine with chocolate. Not once ever since chocolate’s been discovered.’

‘You don’t want a drink, then? Fine. I’ll bring only one glass.’

‘Come on now, Angel. I did not say that.’

Aziraphale fought his way to finally make it to his backroom then from the backroom (also filled to the ceiling with stacks of books waiting to be arranged to their new spots) to his kitchen. He came back with the St Montrésor bottle and two glasses to discover one of the desks had been cleared, with the chocolate boxes and Crowley’s sunglasses put on it, and two chairs settled facing each other.

‘Voltaire was a right asshole, you know,’ Crowley said from where was standing, in front of a rare full bookshelf, his head tilted to the side. He tapped his fingers against one book. Aziraphale finished popping open the bottle and looked up. The target was his first edition of Candide.

‘A real hypocrite too,’ Crowley continued. ‘Never understood why everyone loved him so much. I certainly never could.’

‘Of course you couldn’t,’ Aziraphale pointed out matter-of-factly while pouring the first glass.

Crowley was a demon, after all; he was incapable of love. Love was something that went far beyond demons capacities. And every once in a while, Aziraphale needed to remind himself of this important fact. Usually, the need followed after Crowley had, once again, acted in a way the Down Below would strongly disapprove of and could earn him severe repercussions, and troubled Aziraphale, for he failed to reconcile the demon’s nature with his contradictory behaviour.

Crowley turned indignant eyes on him. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

‘Nothing, dear boy,’ he pointed out with a placid voice. He pushed the full glass towards the empty chair with his forefinger. ‘Here, your wine.’

Crowley sat with his usual incoherent noises, which Azirahpale had given up trying to make sense of them long ago. At first, he had thought it was his forked tongue’s doing. That it somehow made it difficult for him to form coherent words. However, it became clear soon enough it wasn’t actually his tongue’s fault; Crowley had no problem forming coherent words. He even spoke comprehensively enough, at least when he felt like it. After some time, it had become one of Crowley’s many habits that made no sense to Aziraphale. He doubted even Crowley himself knew what he was trying to express through those simulacra of words.

Aziraphale poured his own glass. Crowley had his lifted slightly in the air, waiting to clink them. Aziraphale had no problems indulging him.

‘To the bookshop,’ Crowley said.

Aziraphale gave him one of his most delighted smile. ‘Yes. To the bookshop.’

He took a small sip with his eyes trained steadfast on the chocolate box as to avoid looking too eager to catch Crowley’s reaction.

Crowley was right. The taste was particularly pleasant.

Incoherent noises echoed in the bookshop again. Aziraphale lifted a timid gaze only to catch Crowley’s wide yellow eyes staring at him with total disbelief.

‘Is this what I think it is?’

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows in the most innocent manner he was capable of. ‘What you think it is? I have not the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’

Crowley narrowed his eyes. ‘You do. You totally do. St Montrésor.’

‘Dear boy, I told you I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Aziraphale replied, though he was secretly pleased he had elicited a reaction. ‘But I’m glad to see you find this wine to your taste.’

Crowley scoffed. ‘Yeah, yeah. You just coincidentally happen to have a bottle of the exact same wine I mentioned to you last century, complaining about how much of an impossible struggle it was to find one bottle. And I would know, I’ve been searching for one for sixty years. Still impossible today. There haven’t been one put on the market since forever.’

‘See, if no bottle have been put on the market for a while, how would I have managed to get one? It’s just one bottle among many other common ones. Do you want a chocolate?’ He extended the box to Crowley with a polite smile.

Crowley raised an eyebrow. It would have been impossible for him to look anywhere more unimpressed than he did at that moment. It was as if he didn’t believe him—him, an Angel of the Lord.

‘Crowley–’

‘This is why you said there would be excellent wine to that grand opening of yours!’

Aziraphale swallowed, scratching at his neck. ‘I have no idea what you’re referring to. Sure you don’t want a chocolate? These are delicious, you know. Humans are wonderfully talented with these sorts of things. Though I have to say, it is quite an amount you bought here.’

‘Shouldn’t you be pleased, then?’

‘Oh, I am,’ Aziraphale confirmed with a swell of affection threatening to overtake him. ‘Immensely, even.’

‘Well, don’t be,’ Crowley huffed and went back to his glass, dropping the subject of the wine.

______________

‘Do you know, I’m quite relieved they changed their minds,’ Aziraphale declared a while later with a slur to his words. Most of the bottle had been consumed already, as well as the first chocolate box.

‘Hmm? Who?’ Crowley, lounging in his chair, was busy frowning at his glass as he swirled the wine with his hand.

‘Gabriel and Sandolphon,’ Aziraphale clarified. ‘I should’ve been in head office right now, as we’re speaking.’

‘You don’t…’ Crowley coughed and started again, words clearer this time. ‘You know what made them changed their minds?’ There was something suspicious about his tone, but Aziraphale was no longer sober enough to analyse it.

‘I do not know. They didn’t share this particular information with me.’ Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder, dismissive. Neither Gabriel nor Sandolphon had care to share anything with him before vanishing. He didn’t know what could’ve happened between the moment they’d left the shop, and the moment they’d come back. ‘It must be part of the Ineffable plan.’

‘Sure. Yeah,’ Crowley answered with derision. ‘The ineffable plan. Or perhaps in the meantime they’ve realized how much more invaluable you were to the Big Bosses down here thwarting my devilish wiles than up there.’ Crowley kept darting his eyes around the shop, as if he was purposefully avoiding him—an odd behaviour because Crowley was never shying from openly staring at him. He was a bit drunk, though. Perhaps that was why.

‘Who knows, dear boy. I am still quite baffled by this whole dreadful affair.’

Aziraphale chose one of the last two chocolates in the box. He left what was left of the wine to Crowley.

‘Your assumption might be the right one, though,’ he added after a moment. ‘I think I can recall Gabriel telling me that they need me here to keep battling evil or something along those lines.’ Aziraphale’s lips turned up into a smug smile, and he straightened on his chair. ‘Perhaps I did actually convince them to change their minds!’

Crowley threw his head back and gulped down what was left in his glass. ‘Thank fuck you did. I was ready to pack my things and make my way back below.’

Aziraphale turned to him with the last chocolate held forgotten in the air. ‘Why would you do something like that?’ He enquired, alarmed at the prospect.

He couldn’t imagine Crowley in Hell, either living or working there. For a demon, Aziraphale had to admit Crowley had always under-performed his demonic deeds, preferring taking credit for almost any abominable things humans accomplished on their own instead. Creating mischief and inconveniencing people was more his style. How would we ever pull this off down there? He wouldn’t be left to his own devices the way he was on Earth, with the same freedom to do as he pleased.

‘Because being relocated to the deepest, darkest confines of Hell is preferable to staying here with Michael roaming around. Can you believe they’d have sent him down here,’ Crowley complained with contemptuous irritation, outright scandalized. ‘Michael? So many angels up there, and they would’ve sent him? He’s a total wanker. He wouldn’t even care to feed the ducks!’

Aziraphale dropped his eyes to his lap, before daring to shoot a brief and secretive side glance at Crowley. Crowley’s slitted yellow eyes were back to staring at him.

‘I fear that for the foreseeable future, you’ll have to keep putting up with me.’

‘Well, fortunately for me, you’re more tolerable than Michael.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to post this earlier but my laptop crashed right after I was done with the chapter, before I could save it, and I had to rewrite everything. So this one isn't edited yet, but I don't have time to do it now, as I'm leaving for a trip. I'm not sure I'll be able to do it while I'm gone, so I'll probably come back to it once I'm back. 
> 
> A big thank you to everyone who read, gave kudos and commented. You guys are the best!!
> 
> (Kudos and comments always appreciated)

**Author's Note:**

> I'm french, so english=not my first language. Please feel free to point out any typos and errors you notice.  
> Kudos and Comments are extremely appreciated !!
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


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